2014-12-19 - Snow Warning!

Chapter 5 - Ice to Meet You
“The Avatar of Change may not have caused this storm, but whoever did used that scale to do it,” Reed says. You and the other mortals are part of the Holiday dragon circle now–with the exception of the Solstice, who has not yet gotten her fill of scolding the thoroughly-cowed draconic demigod.

“So what do we do?” you ask.

The Holly dragon huffs thoughtfully. “We find it. The Avatar of Change is magic incarnate; I imagine he can sense an object of such magical power as his own scale at a great distance. Then he need only point us in the right direction.”

At long last, the Solstice dragon rejoins the group. “He will help us find the scale,” she says wryly, “but the Avatars honor the Guardian of Nature’s desire to preserve balance and neutrality, so we’ll have to bring it back ourselves.”

“Of course.”

You turn to watch as the Avatar settles back on his haunches, flaring his wings and baring the multitude of gem-like scales lining his belly scutes and embedded in his wing membranes. They gleam brightly for an instant before their light sinks in glittering whorls into the depths of each gem. Fighting back the urge to ask him how the gems work, you climb upon the Yulebuck’s back.

Without moving, the Avatar says flatly (and, you think, with a tinge of lingering embarrassment), “I have marked the path for you, travelers; it isn’t far. Please return my scale to me.” Ruffling his wings, he turns back and vanishes into the dark, gaping maw of his cave. The dragons set off down the mountain path once more, their passengers in tow.

Epilogue
It becomes clear very quickly what the Avatar meant when he said he had marked the path. Several times one dragon or another attempts to stray from the main path in search of more certain footing, only to be stricken with a grave and gnawing sense of unease. Following along the path, narrow and winding as it is, you feel confident, even giddy. It’s the first time since the blizzard hit that you find yourself imagining Galsreim delivered from the clutches of this terrible storm.

Abruptly, something sweeps Reed’s talons out from under him, sending you sprawling into the waist-deep snow and nearly causing a pile-up of the other dragons following behind.

“We have arrived,” Janus muses sagely.

You sit up and wipe the snow from your face, squinting to get a better look at the obstacle over which your mount stumbled. “It’s a...dragon.” At that moment, the dragon rolled over and stretched luxuriously, catlike in its contented laziness. “An ice hatchling!”

Materializing through a wall of windblown ice, a Frostbite dragon greets the party with a throaty roar, her telepathic call raucous and booming. “Welcome to the party, pals!”

Dragons and mortals alike turn their heads as one. “The party?!”

Chapter 6 - Festivus Interruptus
“The party, yes! Did nobody tell you?”

“Well, not in so many words,” Reed remarks sourly. His warning, like yours and anyone else’s, was sudden biting winds and roiling clouds giving way to endless sheets of snow.

“N-never mind that,” you interject, not much enjoying the thought of a battle breaking out involving the dragon you happen to be riding. “What’s the occasion?”

The Frostbite dragon grins, a plume of cold vapor spilling out of her mouth even in this bitterly frigid air. Her voice drips with reverence as she recounts the tale. “Winter, of course. But not just any winter–no, it has been foretold that this shall be the Winter of Ice Dragons! With her mystical stone, our great clan leader shall lead us into a golden age of frozen glory!”

“That’s -.”

“Fantastic,” Joy pipes up, cutting you off with a wink. “We’re kind of ice dragons too, you know. I for one would love to meet this clan leader of yours.”

Epilogue
With the Frostbite dragon’s gushing over her clan leader (and she had prattled on at great length, with little urging from anyone), you have understandably high expectations. However, after wading past group after group of ice dragons of all shapes and sizes frolicking ecstatically through the snow, your group’s guide leads you to a simple stony outcropping upon which a rather large ice dragon, festooned with jewelry and accoutrements fashioned crudely out of shards of ice, lay with all the pride of a queen.

The Frostbite dragon offers her clan chieftain a private word before excusing herself back to the festivities. Leaving you and your new friends to the leader’s appraising eye. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she crowed. “When I found the stone, I thought about using it to build a giant ice palace into the mountainside, but it seemed a bit pretentious, if you ask me. Now, a blizzard–nothing says winter like a good old-fashioned snow storm.”

“Certainly,” Aurora counters, growling, “but this old-fashioned snow storm you’ve conjured for your clan is threatening to bury all of Galsreim in a perpetual winter.”

“What do you mean?”

You clear your throat, digging through the stacks of vellum stuffed haphazardly into your haversack. “That stone you found isn’t a stone at all. It’s a dragon scale imbued with immensely powerful magic, and by using it you’ve spawned a storm even you cannot hope to control. Our best hope to protect Galsreim is to return the scale to its rightful owner.”

The ice queen looks aghast at you for a long, tense moment, opening her mouth to object.

“And if you think it isn’t your problem because you’re Ice dragons, what do you think you’re going to eat next year when everything’s frozen solid?”

Her mouth clicks shut, swallowing a low growl. You see out of the corner of your eye that her long, wicked claws are digging deeper into the earth, but you dare not break eye contact despite your fear.

Janus breaks the silence. “You must admit, our little friend has a point.”

“Yes,” the Ice queen concedes, grinding her teeth unpleasantly, then continues with a long sigh, “I suppose so. Perhaps I would have done better to settle for the palace after all. Nothing bad ever comes of building gaudy, enviable fortresses to flaunt one’s unimaginable wealth and power. Wait here; I shall retrieve the sto- the scale.”

Dragging her considerable girth along the rock face, the chieftain locates a nearly-invisible crevice barely wide enough to admit one of her taloned paws and reaches inside. Suddenly, her eyes widen.

Pulling her paw out of the crevice, she shows the assembled group her empty talons.

“It’s gone!”

Chapter 7 - High Altitude, High Jinks
“Could one of you do something to stop her unbearable wailing before the whole clan hears and thinks we’ve killed her?” Reed asks, pawing plaintively through your pack. Exasperated, you tie it shut and throw it over your shoulder before he manages to tear your scrolls.

The ice queen remains where she flopped in the throes of her tantrum, shrieking curses to the gale winds at her misfortune with tears frozen solid on both cheeks. In spite of her strident cries and Reed’s mounting irritation, Janus maintains his usual air of composure and reflection, studying the area from where he sits.

It is a poor spot for footprints, even in the blizzard–and, perhaps, because of the blizzard. What ground isn’t solid rock is quickly scrubbed clean of marks by the wind, and even the dragons’ trail into the ice queen’s makeshift court has long since been filled in with snow. Joy bounds lightly across the snow’s surface as only a Snow Angel can, hunting for any faint scents or signs to follow.

You sigh. Even the warm glow from Aurora’s crown doesn’t seem to be enough to cut through the raging blizzard and your darkening mood. Without so much as a broken twig to point the way, you feel the weight of hopelessness begin to creep in once more.

Epilogue
“We could always go back to the Avatar,” you offer with a helpless shrug, raising your voice to be heard over both the Ice dragon’s keening and the wind. Not for the first time since setting out, you wish that you could communicate telepathically, too.

“It’d waste precious time we don’t know that we can afford. Best keep that only as a last resort.” Aurora’s eyes are shut tight, her muzzle turned into the wind. Solstice dragon whiskers are sensitive to the weather, you know, but you’ve never really been able to figure out how.

“Look there!” one of your mortal companions cries, pointing frantically into the endless wall of white.

Eight pairs of eyes–for the ice queen had cried herself into an exhausted stupor–strain to pierce the pelting snow, and for a moment you swear nobody so much as breathes. Then, an unnaturally radiant glint, like bottled starlight, cuts through the gloom, fades, and shines out again. With a whoop you bound over to Reed and scramble onto his back, followed in short order by your companions as you charge toward the irregular glimmer in the distance.

It takes little to cover the intervening distance, and when you draw near you can’t help but let out loud peals of laughter.

Three Nilia pygmies, sinking all the way to their necks in the snow with every step they take, are squabbling loudly and valiantly for control of a brilliantly iridescent scale easily twice their size.

Chapter 8 - Pint-sized Pilferer
“Hey you,” you call out, gripping Reed’s mane tightly as you lean over to pluck the scale away from the thieving pygmies. It takes a couple of extra shakes to dislodge the most tenacious of the three from the scale, and when you straighten back up on the Yulebuck’s back you look down to see three pairs of bright golden eyes glaring hatefully up at you. “Sorry! It’s important.”

“I don’t think I would want them knowing where I sleep,” Joy smirks.

You reach into your haversack and produce three large, faintly-glowing mana crystals that you made earlier in anticipation of rejoining the refugees in the clearing and toss each one into the snow by the pygmies. They dive into the deep drift, one surfacing with two gems before being tackled by the one that came up empty-mouthed.

Your would-be murderers thus distracted, you take the chance to examine the scale more closely. It is denser than you expected and seems to almost thrum at your touch, shining a bright, iridescent gold in spite of the dark and dreary skies.

“Let us away,” Janus’ telepathic voice cuts through the almost entrancing hum of the scale against your palms, “before Her Majesty has a change of heart. Aurora, do you remember the way?”

She nods silently in answer and sets off at a brisk pace through the snow, the other dragons and their passengers following the glow she leaves in her wake as they circle wide around the Ice dragon revelries and make for the Avatar’s lair.

Epilogue
This time, when your party reaches the Avatar’s den, the distant rumble of his snoring is not there to greet you. The blizzard’s winds have begun to penetrate whatever protective wards the dragon set to protect his home; this, at least, makes you frown.

Holding the scale high above your head, you shout, “O great Avatar, we have come to return what was stolen from you!”

The Avatar of Change steps out into the dreary daylight, towering proudly over your expedition force, all traces of his earlier embarrassment gone. “Ah,” he says, his telepathic gravitas undeniable, “well done. Thank you.”

“Can you stop the storm now?” Joy pipes up, hopeful.

“I cannot interfere–however,” he adds with wry amusement as Aurora’s expression darkens. The gems along his belly scutes glow brightly again as he closes his eyes. The scale in your hands thrums more energetically for a moment and then goes still, its otherworldly sheen fading and leaving it seeming almost...empty. The iridescence remains–veritably, any who did not get to see it before would never know the lack–but that spark of power is gone. “The scale is depleted,” the Avatar explains, “and without it the storm cannot persist indefinitely.”

Janus and Aurora bare their teeth in what you imagine passes among dragons as a grin.

“Rejoin your companions below; tame the savage winds. But beware–without its master, the storm will be more violent and unforgiving than ever until it wears itself out.”

You nod, drawing your cloak more tightly about yourself and taking a firmer hold on Reed’s mane, and once again the eight of you set off down the mountain path and back into the howling storm.

Chapter 9 - A Light in Dark Places
You thought the blizzard was harsh before, but as the Avatar’s final words echo in your mind and you cling doggedly to Reed’s neck in a vain effort to shield yourself from the biting wind, you realize you had no idea. Straight-line gusts threaten to rip you from your mount and you can hardly even see his candy-striped legs through the dense snowfall.

Chancing a look over your shoulder, you can easily make out the soft glow of Aurora’s orb and the faint golden glint of Joy’s feathered wings, mantled to shield her rider against the worst of the storm, but Janus’ large silhouette is nearly impossible to make out.

“Slow down!” you shout into Reed’s ear, hoping that the tempest doesn’t simply snatch the words away. “We’re getting split up!”

Reed pauses, fluttering his holly-leaf wings with consternation. Aurora catches up, followed in short order by fleet-footed and somehow still high-spirited Joy. Janus, hampered as he is by his greater size and advanced age, joins the group a few minutes later, noticeably winded.

“Are we getting close?” his rider calls out.

“Do we even know where we are?” Joy adds, ruffling her feathers as her passenger begins to shiver harder.

Reed bristles at the veiled accusation. “We’re headed in the right direction,” he retorts, “but it’s hard to see anything in this accursed blizzard.”

Aurora’s rider sits up higher on her withers, his face illuminated by the softly-glowing orb between her antlers. “We’re lost, aren’t we?”

Epilogue
“Calm down, everyone,” Janus says, “we’ll get nowhere if we lose our heads, and everyone is counting on us to get back to the refuge. Joy, you are the most nimble of us. You and your rider go behind us and make sure none of us wanders off course. Reed, I will cut a path for you to follow. Aurora, do you think you can sense Godsibb’s weather wards from here?”

The Solstice dragon tilts her head, her tufted tail switching concernedly across the snow’s powdery surface. “I think so–yes, faintly.”

“Then lead the way, if you please.”

Reed chimes in, a bit of his good humor returning. “Aurora with your orb so bright, won’t you guide our -.”

“Finish that sentence,” she growls, brandishing her golden horns as she takes her place at the head of the procession, “I dare you.” You slap the Yulebuck’s neck in a good-humored scolding gesture.

With freshly renewed spirits, you set off once more on your corrected course, and before long you begin to see a light beyond the soft glow of Aurora’s crown.